


Green Eyed Glasses

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anxiety, Get Together, Jealousy, Len Has So Many Issues, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self Confidence Issues, Unreliable Narrator, but just because he's being stupid, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you never tell him you like him, he'll never know about it," Lisa points out.</p>
<p>"Did I ask for your input?"</p>
<p>(in which Len gets jealous and misses the obvious)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Eyed Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> Response to tumblr request for jealousy get-together fic with pining

"If you never tell him you like him, he'll never know about it," Lisa points out, lolling on her back and stretching a little while carefully avoiding chipping her still-drying nail polish on anything. 

Len, who'd been assigned to paint her toenails, glares up at her for moving. And also maybe for the comment. "Did I ask for your input?"

"Len. You're gone on him. You were gone on him when you were a teenager, and you're even more gone on him now that he's swept into your life again."

"Hey, I rescued him this time around!" Len protests. "He was about to get his stupid ass shot by a goddamn mafia firing squad!"

"And you broke off your perfectly timed heist, dropping literally everything - up to and including your hitherto sterling reputation - to go get him, and that's because it was Mick Rory standing against that wall," Lisa points out. "Anyone else and you would've walked on by."

Len makes a face, but she's not wrong. 

"Lenny, Mick's pretty hot, even I've noticed it," Lisa says gently. "If you don't snap him up, it'll be too late."

Len snorts and ignores her.

She leaves the next day, blowing kisses and making him promise to write, but he has reason to remember that conversation when he comes in not two weeks later to find Mick deep in conversation with a guy on the new crew they've signed up with for this job. Mick, who rarely spoke more than grunting and even then usually about a movie or something like that, conversing, with obvious pleasure and excitement on his face.

Len feels something clench in his chest, some cold and hollow feeling. 

Mick never looks like that when talking to _him_. 

Well, maybe originally, but lately Len's noticed that Mick's taken to calling him boss with a bit of an edge to it. Len's always taken that sobriquet as an ironic little nickname since they're partners, they're obviously partners, but lately it's been more and more like Mick doesn't think so and Len's been helpless to find a way to correct him. Mick doesn't like talking about feelings, it was one of the first things Len learned about him way back when; his disgust and revulsion when one of the other boys had spilled his guts about something or another had seared its way into Len's memory. So Len just watched, mute, figuring he'd wait until the right moment to try to crack the ice that seems to be forming between them.

Maybe it’s too late.

Who is that guy he’s talking to, anyway? Len flips through his mental rolodex, trying to place the guy – oh, Garfield Lynns. The explosives expert. 

This is the first job Len’s planned that needs some serious explosives – distraction, breaking into the safe, covering their escape – so he brought in a guy known to be reliable about such things. He’d never met Lynns before beyond the initial meet up when he brought him onto the crew and verified that he wasn’t totally useless. 

Apparently, he should have investigated him for _friend stealing_ qualities as well, but he’d never realized that that was an option.

Len pretends not to notice, laying out the initial steps of the plan and setting everyone on assignment. He makes an especial effort not to notice how cheerful Mick looked, how relaxed his shoulders were, how his lips crooked up into a faint little smile that made something in Len’s chest squeeze tight.

He dismisses them. Mick usually stays back on his own accord, lets Len talk about the progress of the plan with him or at least off of him, but he starts to rise to his feet this time. 

“Mick, a word,” Len says, fixing his eyes on the plans.

Mick obediently comes over to Len’s side while the others – including Lynns – drift off to go do their own things. A success, but one that tastes bitter in Len’s mouth. He doesn’t want Mick’s obedience. He wants Mick to be by his side because he _wants_ to be there.

“What’s up?” Mick finally asks when Len stays silent a bit too long. He’s standing by Len’s side; Len glances at him sidelong. Is he shifting from side to side because of his usual restlessness after a meeting, or does he want to leave? Has he already made plans to meet with Lynns later?

Len clears his throat and banishes the thoughts. “I want to go over some personnel questions,” he says, framing it as an order instead of a question because he doesn’t want to deal with what happens if he asks Mick to stay with him and Mick says no, thanks, he’d rather be off talking with fucking _Lynns_. “What do you think of them?”

Mick shrugs, looking slightly mystified. Len recruited their crew, and he’s not one to question his decisions after they’re made. “They’re fine,” he says. “Why, anything come up?”

Yeah, Lynns.

“Nothing in particular,” Len says. “Just a feeling.”

A feeling called jealousy, which Len doesn’t even have the right to because he never told Mick anything about how he felt because he’s a fucking idiot.

Mick’s eyebrows go up. “Alexa?”

“No, nothing like that,” Len says hastily, because this really is a good job and, honestly, he doesn’t have any such premonitions about the job going down. The visions of imminent self-destruction are all emotional.

“You okay?” Mick asks, frowning a bit at Len. “You were being a bit weird during the meeting, too.”

“I wasn’t being weird,” Len replies instinctively.

Mick doesn’t take up the opportunity to engage in banter, shrugging and accepting Len’s words without critique. Len doesn’t like that; Mick has always been the one to call him out when he’s being stupid or weird or anything like that, but maybe somewhere along the lines he stopped doing that. Started just accepting whatever bullshit came out of Len’s mouth, like the other guys in the crew, the ones who had no idea how much of this Len was making up on the fly.

Mick used to be the one to encourage him to just pretend he knows what he was doing, laughing and saying that the crews would never know the difference. What did Len do to drive Mick away like this?

“Snart, you got something to say or not?” Mick asks, arching an eyebrow.

Goddamnit, they’re alone; Mick ought to be calling him Len, not Snart. What the hell happened? How did Len overlook this?

“Uh, yeah,” Len replies. “I want your thoughts on each of the crew’s capabilities, one by one. Anderson?”

“Solid enough,” Mick says with a disinterested shrug. “Doesn’t look like he’ll cause any problems. He’s not smart enough to disobey orders.”

“What about Mathieu?”

“Decent enough thief, decent self-control. Nothing special, but he’ll do his part.”

“Felix?”

“Dependable enough for an extra pair of hands. Won’t run or turn on us in a tight moment, which is all that matters. Dey and Colms are in the same boat, before you ask.”

Len braces himself. “Lynns?”

“Oh, I like him,” Mick says breezily, as if it wasn’t a dagger in Len’s heart. “He’s cool. Got some bright ideas – was thinking of hitting him up later, actually – unless you’ve got plans tonight?” He looks hopeful, but he’s probably hoping that Len says no and lets him go on his way. Can’t wait to get away.

“No, nothing,” Len says through lips that feel strangely numb. “Go have fun.”

“You sure?” Mick says. “You’re still acting a bit weird.”

“I told you I’m fine,” Len says. “Go on; we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Mick studies him for another minute, then sighs like Len is being difficult or something and heads out, shaking his head.

Len watches him go. He looks down at his plans for the heist; he had been planning to spending a few more hours reviewing them and checking for contingencies, but he’s not even seeing them right now. He folds them up mechanically, slides them away, and heads out. He needs to take a walk, clear his head.

Make every possible effort not to hunt down and murder a member of his crew for something he doesn’t even realize he’s done.

…maybe staying in would be a better idea.

The next few days are nothing short of horrific. It’s like Mick is hanging out with Lynns left and right and everywhere Len turns. The job is on a fairly tight deadline to get everything ready and in place to hit the window of opportunity that Len identified, but that means they spend a lot of time together, the whole crew, and Len may be the first person Mick checks on when he enters a room – of course he does, Len’s the boss – but it’s Lynns he goes to sit by or chat with.

Len’s best attempts to avoid looking at Mick and Lynns basically means that he’s looking at them all the time, because he’s a goddamn masochist and he can’t bring himself to break the invisible wall that’s suddenly sprung up between him and Mick, now that Mick’s found someone else. 

And why wouldn’t he? Lynns seems to actually listen when Mick’s talking about fire – not that Len doesn’t, but after all these years, he may have drifted off a time or five, and sometimes that gets on Mick’s nerves. Lynns seems to have no problems when Mick slaps him on the shoulder and sits right next to him instead of dashing off like a skittish cat every time Mick accidentally bumps into him. Lynns talks to him, equal to equal, instead of boss to subordinate, giving orders. Lynns likes things that blow up and the chaos that follows, and that’s right up Mick’s alley. 

But as much as Len wants to, he can’t just drop everything to go occupy Mick’s time and try to convince him to come back. Len’s the boss. This is his heist. He’s planned it, he’s organized it; it’s his job to bring it off. They’re all trusting him, even Mick, based on his excellent reputation and his intelligence. 

Len’s just walking around like he has a terrible knot in his chest, some terrible vice tightening and tightening until it crushes his lungs and his heart. He’s not having a panic attack, that’s absurd; panic attacks are much worse than this. This is more like how it feels when his dad’s around, that terrible never-relenting pressure that one step out of line will break the tenuous peace, but that’s equally absurd. His dad’s nowhere around.

He can’t be falling to pieces over this, damnit. He’s got a job to pull and a crew that’s counting on him being as cool as his record.

Len ends up organizing the meetings so that no one notices him cutting out every few hours just to take a few deep breaths in the bathroom. 

He still goes home with Mick to the flat they’re squatting in, because of course Mick’s not going to up and change in the middle of a job – no, he’d wait until the job is over, take his share, go off somewhere nice and warm like he likes and Len hates. Lynns has been talking about going to Brazil when the heist’s done and they split, to the jungles and the heat and the poor policing.

Mick would probably like Brazil. Len’s never been.

Len’s the one who makes them keep coming back to Central City, his home. Mick doesn’t feel any such attachments; he’d probably be happier travelling the world with a fellow arsonist.

“Len!” Mick shouts, and Len jerks out of his thoughts of Mick wearing a thin tank top, translucent with sweat, spinning on the bar stool of some bar down south where they’re all speaking Portuguese, grinning and playing cards and looking so beautiful, the way he does when he’s happy. 

“What?” he says, blinking up at his partner. Still his, for the moment. For how much longer, that’s the question…

“You haven’t finished your dinner,” Mick says, pointing to the plate where Len’s been shifting stuff around for the last few minutes.

“Oh, uh, I’m not really hungry,” Len says, and it’s true; the tender pot roast and steaming vegetables – now hopelessly mixed together – look like some of Mick’s own cooking, which Len normally can’t get enough of, rather than the cheap take-out they usually get while on a job like this, but the knot in Len’s chest is heavy and weighing on his stomach, and if he eats anything he’ll probably puke. “I’ll put it in the fridge and eat it later.”

“No, you won’t,” Mick says, crossing his arms in front of him. “Because first you’ll have to pull out yesterday’s dinner, and the dinner from the day before that. What did you have for lunch?”

Len can’t remember. He’s sure he had something.

“Len, what’s wrong?” Mick asks. “It’s been going on near a week and you’ve been acting, uh…” he hesitates. 

_Stupid?_ Len gloomily fills in the end of the sentence. _Broken? Pathetic? Useless? Not worth carting around?_

“…weird,” Mick finally settles on. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Len says. “Won’t affect the job, I promise.”

Mick grits his teeth and clenches his eyes, like Len’s said something stupid. Seems to be something he’s getting good at, when it comes to Mick; saying the wrong thing. 

“Job’s in three days,” Mick says under his breath, like he’s repeating a mantra. “Three days.”

Len is unexpectedly hurt – is Mick really counting down the days till he gets to leave? Is it really that bad? – but he grits his teeth and tries to move on. He stares down at his meal. Mick wants him to eat. He hasn’t been doing much for Mick lately. He scoops up some with his fork and forces himself to take a bite. It’s necessary, he tells himself. Necessary…

Mick snatches away his plate. “Never mind,” he says, taking it away and leaving Len with his fork dangling in midair. “You eat when you’re like that; you’ll just get sick later. I’ll get you some bread to settle your stomach, okay?”

Len nods gratefully. 

Mick drops off some bread and backs off quickly. Actually, everyone’s been backing off around him recently; the crew’s working like someone’s put the fear of god into them, finishing preliminary assignments on time and picture perfect, people keeping their voices down and not drinking much – it’s almost like they’re appeasing him, trying to keep out of his way, out of his notice.

Fuck, when did Len turn into his dad?

Probably sometime when he didn’t notice that he was driving Mick away.

Len starts fanatically checking over his plans repeatedly, even though he knows them backwards and forwards and he _knows_ that, barring anything unexpected, the heist will go perfectly. Then again, that’s what his dad always thought, and he was almost always wrong, too. 

He sees Mick studying him from a distance. Probably wondering if Len will fall apart without him, wondering if he should stick around just for that. Len shudders. Lisa’s mom had stuck around a good few years longer than she should have, in his opinion, on the premise that Len’s dad wouldn’t have anyone to take care of him if she didn’t do it, and she suffered for every minute that she lived under that delusion. When she broke and finally did leave, it turned out that Lewis did just fine without her, shifting all the work onto Len’s shoulders instead. 

Len starts hiding himself away to look over the plans. He doesn’t want to give Mick the wrong idea. He’s not going to force Mick to stay, even if every last selfish bone in his body is screaming at him to do so. He is not going to do that. He is _not_.

The day before the heist, Len sneaks out for a walk like the types he’s been taking recently, trying to find the sense of peace he usually gets from wandering around his city right before orchestrating the perfect heist but usually dwelling on thoughts of Mick – if he can convince him to stick around after this for another job, stall out the planning of it, figure out what he’s done to make him start shopping around for a new partner, maybe get the balls to tell him about his inconvenient feelings…

He hears Mick’s voice, a familiar, booming laugh that Mick only gets when he finds something really funny. Almost without willing it, his feet turn in that direction, and he turns the corner to see Mick and Lynns – of _course_ – exiting a stripper bar that Len dislikes for any number of reasons. Mick knows Len doesn’t like it, so he’s usually avoided it too.

He’s not avoiding it now. 

No, Mick’s laughing like something’s funny, leaning in towards Lynns, Mick’s arm slung companionably over Lynn’s shoulder the way he used to try to do to Len but which Len couldn’t stand. He looks relaxed and _happy_ , not all with his face all pinched and worried like he’s been around Len the last few days.

Len watches them for a long moment, wondering if this is what it feels like to have your heart freeze inside of your ribs, this big, gaping hole that seems to have opened up inside of him. 

Fuck. 

He does love Mick, that’s the problem. He won’t keep Mick where Mick’s not happy, no matter what it’ll do to him. 

Len turns on his heel and goes home.

Mick arrives not much later, to Len’s surprise. He half expected Mick to stay out all night, crash at Lynn’s place; Mick’s always liked to make himself comfortable the night before a serious heist, just like Len does, retreating back to somewhere safe for the last few hours. But Len supposes that he’s never made it clear to Mick that he didn’t _have_ to spend the time with Len, because Len’s always assumed that Mick enjoyed hanging out with Len just as much as Len enjoyed the time with Mick.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here,” he tries.

Mick, who’s just come in through the door and started hanging up his jacket on the coat-hanger, freezes. “What the hell?” he says, starting to scowl.

“I’m just saying,” Len adds quickly. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to. I know you’ve got better places to be.” _Better people to be with_.

“The _fuck_ , Lenny?” Mick snarls and Len winces at the familiar diminutive. “If you want to ditch me, at least have the balls to come out and say so, don’t fucking pussyfoot around the issue.” He snatches his jacket and storms out. 

Len watches him go. That wasn’t what he meant, _he_ didn’t want Mick to go. He wanted Mick to stay with him, preferably forever.

He sits there on the couch, staring at the doorway where Mick’s left him, possibly forever, for the rest of the night. He doesn’t sleep. 

This isn’t something that can be solved with food, or fire, or any of Mick’s normal vices. If Mick wants out, Mick gets to go out. That’s always been Len’s rule. He’s not going to force anyone he actually cares about to stay with him. You try to pull out in the middle of heist, sure, Len’s going to have an issue with you, but before it begins or after it ends, everyone gets the choice, the _free_ choice, free of force or manipulation or emotional appeals, to leave. 

The heist goes off without a hitch.

Len’s a little surprised – he secretly wants Lynns to screw up his part so that he can run to Mick like a small child with a tale for the teacher and say, ‘see, you shouldn’t go with him, he’s no good, I’m better, pick me, pick me!’, but Lynns is as professional as he was billed as and it all goes fine. Even Len manages not to screw up his portion despite his distraction.

The take is frankly massive. 

Len’s been a long way from robbing ATMs for a while, but even he thinks of this as something of a masterpiece. Something not unlike Mick’s dream of the perfect score: the timing, the execution, everything is flawless, and the take is – well, even splitting it as many ways as they are, everyone’s going home more than happy. Everyone’s going home _rich_.

Len’s reputation for equity is pretty robust, so the rest of them all sit around the front room, talking excitedly to each other about their plans – Lynns is going on about Brazil again, hookers and huge chunks of meat on skewers, horses to ride and beer to drink – while Len sits in the back and splits it up. He’s never cheated anyone before, and he’s not inclined to do it now, but it’s a matter of splitting up the liquid – cash, bonds, anything saleable – and illiquid – gems, gold, silver, jewelry and watches – among the group, with those willing to take the time hit of needing to go get the illiquid stuff fenced getting more money in the end than those who wanted the cash now. 

Len is dividing it up, half appraiser and half judge, but he’s feeling strangely disconnected from the task. It’s a lot of money. By itself, one portion will last anyone a good long while if they save it – less time if they blow it on a pile of big things, but even then it’d still hold out for a decent bit. And that’s the point of having money, isn’t it, spending it. Making yourself happy. 

On an abrupt impulse, Len takes his portion and dumps it into Mick’s box. He rips a blank sheet of paper off the notepad he’s been using to make gold-to-cash conversions and other such calculations and he writes…something. He’s not actually sure what. Something along the lines of _I don’t know what I did to make you want to go away, but I want you to be happy so I won’t stop you from leaving, just please come back one day I’ll be waiting for you forever_.

Len hopes it’s not as pathetic as all that, but he refuses to let himself read what he’s written. With two portions of a take this big, it’s enough money to get Mick anything he wants, anywhere he wants. Enough money for this to be Mick’s perfect score. Something to remember Len fondly by.

“Money’s up,” he calls out to the rest of them, and slips out the side door while they’re all grabbing their portions and carting them off in separate directions to gloat over. 

Len goes to a bar and uses the hundred dollars he’s got left in his wallet – heists are always tight on his money situation – to get as much alcohol as the bartender is willing to give him at one time. And then he drinks until the feeling of loss goes away.

It doesn’t go away, though, so obviously Len hasn’t drunk enough yet.

Mick finds him some time later. Len’s not sure how much time, his internal clock is weirdly not responding, but that’s probably just because the stupid floor keeps going up and down like a wave and distracting him. He’s also not sure what Mick is doing there, but he’s more than happy to wrap himself around him like an octopus in an attempt to get him to stay. He’s not sure why he thinks that will work – Mick lifts him up in response – but Mick does just walk out of the bar and take him back home, which is really very nice of him. 

Len wakes up the next morning and stares at the ceiling. He’s blessed with a remarkably good tolerance for hangovers but cursed with a perfect recollection of every damn stupid thing he did while drunk. Len’s only happy that by the time Mick showed up, he’s pretty sure that he was so drunk as to be incomprehensible, which is good because if Mick ever understood any of the sentimental claptrap Len had been blubbering Len might have to die of shame on the spot.

Not exactly the send-off Len was hoping to give Mick.

Hell, why was Mick there? Did he think Len had given him his share of the take by accident or something?

Oh, god, Len was going to have to actually talk about this. Maybe he can convince Mick that they should have a fight or something instead. Much easier than talking.

Len gets out of bed and makes his way downstairs. He’s not a believer in postponing the inevitable. It only causes more pain.

Mick has not made breakfast, which is a sure sign that he’s pissed off, and is just standing in the kitchen drumming his fingers on the table. Now Len is confused, because he doesn’t see what he could’ve possibly done to get Mick angry, but he edges carefully into the kitchen anyway. They stare at each other for a long moment, Len mostly taking the opportunity to drink in the familiar and very welcome view of Mick. 

“That supposed to be some sort of severance pay?” Mick finally says, eyes narrow and glaring. “Some sort of hint?”

“Hint?” Len says, totally thrown. “No, not at all.”

Mick crosses his arms in front of him. “Certainly seemed like a hint. And why the hell did you go drink so much anyway, and out in public, too? I practically had to peel you off the floor.”

Len feels a flash of terrible embarrassment and straightens his back. “I don’t see why you care,” he snaps. “It’s obviously not your problem anymore.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Len feels deeply bitter. He should be enjoying his post-heist high with his partner in tow, laughing and drinking and having a good time before splitting to wherever to lay low and enjoy their ill-gotten gains, but no, he has to be here having this fight instead. “Seems to me you’ve already moved on,” he says. “Don’t need any hints from me.”

“What are you on about?”

“Garfield Lynns,” Len spits out the name like it tastes bad. “Seems like nowadays he’s more your style than me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mick says. “He can’t plan worth shit.”

This is true.

“I’ll keep planning for you two if you come back,” Len offers, despite knowing he was reaching new heights of pathetic, but if it meant he got to keep even a little bit of Mick, he would offer and pride be damned.

“Come back? From _where_? Why do you keep thinking I’m going to go?”

“Because you are!” Len exclaims. “I don’t want to keep you if you don’t want to stay, but I’m selfish and I don’t want you to go, either, so I’ll do anything I can to try to convince you not to go, but I’m clearly fucking useless at it, so I figure if you go with a good feeling then maybe you’ll come _back_ one day.”

Mick has the strangest expression on his face. “And that’s why you gave me your share?”

“It’s a lot,” Len says, wrapping his arms around himself. “Not quite enough to live off the rest of our – the rest of your life on, but even if you spend like a lotto winner, you’ll be good for at least a year or so.”

“The perfect score,” Mick murmurs. He’s still got that strange expression. “Len, why do you think I’m leaving?”

“Because you like him _better_ ,” Len says savagely. “And I know it’s terrible and selfish and possessive of me, but I can’t _stand_ it, and it’s been clear that the last few weeks I’ve been driving you crazy with it because I can’t control my stupid feelings about you.”

“Feelings?” Mick echoes. 

Shit. Len hadn’t meant to blurt that part out. Now Mick’s _never_ coming back.

“I didn’t meant to make this awkward,” he says quickly, words nearly rushing together in the effort to get them out of his mouth in time. “We’ve had a very good partnership, right? Very fruitful, very profitable – not worth fucking up over something this stupid – if you come back, I’ll have gotten it under control by then, I’m sure I will –”

Mick takes three quick steps forward and pulls Len into his arms, kissing him soundly quiet. He releases him a few seconds later and Len gapes at him.

He’s smirking at first, then the expression fades into something not unlike trepidation and fear. “Uh, you did mean feelings like that, right? Not just ‘I’m the best criminal partner for you’ stuff?”

“No, you got that right,” Len says, dazed. Did that just happen? Why would Mick kiss him? Is it – “This isn’t pity, right?” He wouldn’t be able to tolerate it if this were pity or something Mick thinks he needs to do to keep Len around…

“No, you idiot,” Mick says, rolling his eyes with exasperation. “Why would I pity you? You’re _great_ – you just planned out very nearly the perfect score, and you’ll do it again if you find another chance.” He pauses, then adds, almost casually, “Plus, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh,” Len says stupidly. Then, equally stupidly, “But what about Lynns? You were spending so much time with him.”

“He’s an ex-lighting tech guy,” Mick explains patiently. “We were talking fireworks and pyrotechnics; he says he can give me a tip on somewhere to learn how to do it myself so we don’t fizzle out all of ours and have to wait for someone else to do it next fourth of July. You know, the holiday we always celebrate? Together?”

“Oh,” Len says again. He thinks about this. Yes, that makes a lot more sense. He should probably say something, though, because Mick’s face is fading into that worried expression, like he thinks there’s any chance that Len _doesn’t_ return the sentiment in full force.

Len tackles him to the floor, kicking his ankles out from under him and catching his head before it hits the kitchen tiles and pulling him up into a kiss. “Mine,” he says, peppering Mick’s face with kisses. “Mine, mine, _mine_ –”

“I’m okay with this,” Mick says, as dazed as Len was earlier. “I am _very_ okay with this. No, no, _keep going_ –”


End file.
